


Sectumsempra - For enemies.

by MoriartyDelighted



Series: PoV Draco Malfoy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Sectumsempra, chapter rewritten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-08-10 02:54:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7827577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoriartyDelighted/pseuds/MoriartyDelighted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half blood prince, chapter twenty four, Sectumsempra, rewritten from Draco Malfoy's PoV. Unrequited one sided Drarry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sectumsempra - For enemies.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [All my instagram friends.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=All+my+instagram+friends.).



> Hey guys. Whilst certainly not required, it'd be nice if you read the actual book chapter once right now and then read this one. You can connect the events more seamlessly that way.

Draco woke up screaming from yet another nightmare depicting his time with the dementors. The Silencing charms around his four poster hold. His entire stash of The Potion of Dreamless Sleep was used up a week ago, and since then, the horrific dreams have returned.

The night before the day of return to Hogwarts, he was Marked.

The very night, a mere couple of minutes after that, with his hand having not even fully recovered from the extreme burning sensation. Aunt Bella, that absolute twisted witch, had taken his wand and locked him in a room in his own manor upon The Dark Lord's orders and set two dementors on him with the clear instruction that he was not to be Kissed.

That was the first of the many punishments he had to endure after his father's capture at the Ministry. The visions of every single bad thing he could remember that had happened to him were re lived that night.

Right from the memory of a younger Lucius Malfoy using his cane ruthlessly on an eight year old Draco when he was discovered talking to a muggle boy at the edge of the Malfoys' property, to that of the previous day when Cruciatus upon Cruciatus was inflicted on his mother by the Dark Lord and he was forced to hear her screams whilst Aunt Bella explained in detail, the mission to kill Albus Dumbledore. If he were unable to have reproduced it exactly to the Dark Lord later, he would have been tortured in a very creative way by Greyback. But as seemingly impossible as it was, he had managed it, albeit barely. 

Sweat pooling in his back, Draco sat up and looked at the small clock on his bedside table. It was just after seven. He idly toyed with the idea of brewing more of the Dreamless Sleep Potion but banished the train of thought immediately as it would take two weeks to properly brew so as to effect the avoidance of nightmares, and he didn't have two weeks let alone two days to spare for himself. 

Not for the first time, nor second or third, Draco cursed himself and his family for ever having associated with the Dark Lord. As the days flew past, Draco was becoming more more aware of the fact that the task of killing the Headmaster was as impossible as it sounded like. His feeble roundabout attempts at poisoning or cursing him had failed miserably.

Though he was feeling the slightest bit remorseful about what happened to the Bell girl, he was rather irked that the Weasley hadn't bitten the dust. He was the reason that Potter refused to accept his hand in friendship, in the first place. He never forgave Weasley for that. If Draco had been Potter's best friend, and not the Weasel, they could've avoided all this, they could've... No. That way lay madness. Nothing good could've possibly come out of a friendship with The Boy Who Lived, the sworn enemy of his master.

 _Master_. And he, Draco, one of his servants. Is that all he is now? A _servant_?

Grabbing his uniform robes, Draco set off to the bathrooms. After a quick shower, he went down to the kitchens to get breakfast. He took the meagre excuse for a proper breakfast up to the Room of Requirement. It had been a long while since he had eaten a proper meal at the Great Hall. Once a week, without fail, he showed up for meals to avoid suspicion.

The git Potter seemed intent on following his moves. Regularly trying and failing to not to get noticed. Under normal circumstances, that would've been perfectly alright. He would've enjoyed it, even. But right now, it was just another thorn in his side. 

Charms was the first thing on the timetable for the day and Draco had to attend it. He had missed enough classes as it was in a row and this was just taking it too far. Having taken a seat farthest from the holy trio that was Weasley, Granger and Scarhead, Draco focused on changing his glass flask full of vinegar into wine. 

Simple wandwork really, he got it done within the first few minutes of the class. Calling Flitwick over, he gave a small vial full of the wine for testing. Apparently finding it 'impressive, Mr. Malfoy, impressive', Flitwick instructed him to write the essay on the particular spell in class itself so that he could save time and use it for learning other subjects.  _I wish I could, professor,_ thought Draco, regretfully _. But this is the life I've chosen._ And there was no time nor space for regret or self pity.Emotions were not for Death Eaters.

Well, one was. Hatred. 

Risking a look at Potter's table, he saw all three of them huddled together, apparently talking openly but no sound was coming from there. A silencing charm of some sort, Draco deduced. Granger was the only one of them who was actually doing any work on the flask in front of her. Weasley was waving his wand at the ceiling absently making it snow, absorbed in whatever Potter was saying. His mouth was hanging open and clear awe was visible on his face when Potter finished whatever he was going on about. Their table was _snowing and no one seems to notice or care_. What in the world?

Draco couldn't practically think of any person other than Longbottom who would surpass the Weasel's incomparable level of idiocy.  

Someone suddenly burst into tears to his right, and it was Brown managing to both cry and glare at Potter's table. Draco was frozen for a second. Following her glaring line of sight, Flitwick rushed over to Potter's table and with all the snow and the ruckus made by Weasley's flask exploding, and Brown's bawling, Draco snuck out of the classroom at the right moment. It was the perfect distraction. No one was looking. Even Potter hadn't spared him a glance since he had entered the class. They must be really occupied with something, he mused. 

Draco ran up four flights of stairs in lightning speed, held up only when the staircase from the third floor to the fourth was changing. He didn't even have to walk past the doorway of The Room three times anymore. It just appeared before him as he rushed to the part of the wall where the door should be. 

Vince and Greg were already waiting for him by the door, today as a slytherin second year girl and a ravenclaw first year boy, respectively. They each held a glass flask and a metal rod. Nodding to them, Draco entered The Room. They'd know when and how to alert Draco if someone passed by. 

And so began the process of repairing the Vanishing Cabinet for that day. He'd have liked to say that it was mind numbing, tiring, and repetitive work but that wasn't it at all. Every passing hour, every futile minute, kept bringing back memories of his mother writhing in pain on the floor and of his own varied torturous experiences. They were decidedly  _not_ making the job any easier. 

Draco repeatedly tried placing an apple, a feather and a stone with a particular marking in the bottom shelf of the Vanishing Cabinet in The Room and closing the door, fervently wishing that it'd reappear in the top shelf when he opened it a minute later. That was the arrangement between him and Borgin. If Borgin saw any of the three items sitting on the bottom shelf of the Cabinet in Borgin & Burkes, he'd take it and place it on the top shelf which would then reappear on Draco's side and proving that it worked.

But it never happened, not once. The Cabinet still looked shattered in several places and no amount of  _Reparo_ mended it, no matter what variation of the spell he used. Feeling hopeless and helpless and cursing Peeves for having broken it in the first place, he retired for the night. 

The next two weeks passed in a similar routine. Wake up, go about his social duties like a machine, work his arse off till midnight, try to repair the cabinet and brainstorm alternative ideas to murder the most powerful wizard of his time (of course it isn't the Dark Lord, everyone knows that), go to bed wishing he wouldn't wake up the next day, repeat.

Around him, the Castle was going through many changes. The evident increase in energy which usually happened when the Quidditch finals were  impending. As usual, rival teams were attempting to sabotage the other team in any possible way. Pathetic attempts at making songs like 'Weasley Is Our King' were made. Of course none of them came within a mile's radius of his previous year's creation.

The Slytherins were losing their reputation abysmally. Obviously that was bound to happen, since he was the one holding the team together. And now that Draco wasn't playing anymore, they were falling apart. Draco found himself caring less and less about the life around him. His only focus was on repairing the Cabinet in order to provide a passage to the Death Eaters into the castle.

April melted into May and Draco was slowly but surely spiralling into insanity.

One sign of it was the identity of his newly acquainted friend. Possibly his only friend in this castle.

Myrtle Warren, although dead, was a great conversation partner and even more, a great listener. She offered him soothing words and listened to everything he had to let out. She stood by him, or rather floated above him, even in fits of rage and tried her best to comfort him. He confessed all his fears to her. After all, who was she going to tell? 

The task was appearing more and more impossible and Draco began to wonder whether the Dark Lord thrust this mission upon him to watch him fail and then take the pleasure of watching them suffer. His mother's face, twisted in agony, were frequenting his nightmares. Draco began to fear going to sleep as much as he feared the waking part of the day.

Severus kept pestering him with with 'requests' to allow him to help with the task. But Draco knew what he was really after. He wanted the glory of completing the mission. Then the Dark Lord would no longer need the Malfoys and they would be subjected to the worst kind of punishment for not doing their job as told.

Nearing the end of yet another fruitless day of exertion and exhaustion, Draco banged his head on the Cabinet and tried one last time. 

" _Harmonia Nectere Passus!_ ", Draco yelled.

The Cabinet remained as it was. 

Nearly tearing out his hair in frustration, Draco fled out of the room in a flurry of robes and with a desperate groan, startling Vince and Greg. Their polyjuice was wearing off, he could see that. It was almost dinner time. They knew which secret pathway to take back to the Slytherin dormitories without his help. Draco didn't wait for them and hurried off through another corridor branching from the seventh floor. He sprinted to the comfort, however little, that his bed offered, for he couldn't stand another second in the wretched Room. 

 _But of course,_ it'd be the wonderful Boy Who Lived who had to ruin Draco's day even more, which seemed practically impossible a moment ago. He was _this_ close to the dungeons when he almost ran into Potter and the Weaslette in the first floor, chatting and walking comfortably, shoulders brushing, through a corridor which Draco had thought till then, was unbeknownst to anyone but him.

They were in their quidditch attire, back from a  practice session probably, heading to their dormitories. The Gryffindors were playing quite a lot of practise matches lately now that the Bell girl was alright. Honestly he couldn't care less about Quidditch at the time. His once favourite activity and the profession his heart wanted him to take if things went normally, didn't even hold a spark of interest for Draco anymore.

They were walking towards him and he quickly stepped into an alcove to avoid them seeing him.

Draco's heart took a hard plummet and the leaden feeling in his chest became unbearable as he observed Potter's face, through a slit in the curtains draped over the alcove, and saw the expressions there. He was looking at her as if it was the girl Weasley who had hung the moon. He looked absolutely smitten. He was looking hopelessly in love even as she imitated her brother's baboon like face, when the Quaffle hit said face, rather accurately and therefore just as ugly.

Potter's clear laugh broke through the quiet lull of their chatter, and Merlin help him, however much Draco denied this, it truly _was_ the most beautiful sound in the world. If it was because of Draco, the laugh alone would have provided for Draco's Patronus memory, one he currently didn't have. In an openly vulnerable moment, Draco's mental walls shattered and he let himself  _feel_ his heart breaking.

He had to bite his fist and hold himself back against the wall of the alcove lest he jumped out into the corridor and screamed himself hoarse due to the unfairness of it all! It was just too much! The realisation of the fact that Potter would never in a lifetime look at Draco like that, the fact he could never make _Harry_ laugh like that was crippling. He couldn't even scrounge up the tiniest bit of energy to hate on the Weaslette because _who_ could possibly hate on someone who could elicit that laugh from Harry?

If he didn't get a hold of his emotions in the very near future, Draco would go irreversibly crazy, he was sure of that. 

Aunt Bella didn't invade his mind forcefully, repeatedly and taught him, no, forced him to learn Occlumency for no reason, after all. Gathering up what little mental energy he had left, Draco stuck his fingers in his ears to block out their voices and concentrated intensely on rebuilding the barriers he had destroyed a mere minute ago.

After waiting a carefully calculated four minutes more in the alcove, Draco stepped out, cool and collected, the mask of stone back on his face and his heart. Only one emotion remained. 

Anger.

At everyone. Everything.

He swiftly turned back and went to the boys' bathroom in the sixth floor. The common room was usually filled with people at this time and he didn't want to see anybody. That particular bathroom wasnt usually used by anyone even though it isn't out of order. It was more due to the fact that a girl ghost idles around there, most of the time.

He needed her. He needed someone, _anyone_ , to help him, help him out of this _hell_ he's stuck in. Once he reached there, he couldn't find her anywhere. He was alone. Well and truly alone. In every sense.

Gripping the edges of a grimy sink with sweaty palms, he broke down. The terror of the consequences lest he fail, hit him like a hurricane.

Absolute break down of what little grip on his sanity he had.

He cried and cried and cried. Cried like he never had before. His whole body was shaking with the tremors of it. Chest heaving, he tried to take a deep breath and calm himself down but that breath stuttered out halfway and he found himself crying even harder than before. 

He vaguely registered Myrtle's presence to his side. She was saying, "Don't, don't _cry,_ tell me what's wrong, _Draco_ , I can help you...".

Draco wanted to laugh in derision but all he could do was cry, his whole body shaking. Nobody could help him, he had doomed his family! He remembered his father's face and the last thing he said, 'Do not fail me, Draco. Finish what I couldn't.' He remembered his mother's pleading face, begging the Dark Lord to give the mission to someone else saying 'But he's just a boy...!'

All he could do was cry. "No one can help me, I can't do it... I can't... It won't work... And unless I do it soon... He says he'll kill me...", a _fter feeding us to Greyback_ , he added in his mind. Taking a shuddering breath at the thought, he tried to take a controlling breath, which came out more like a gasp and a gulp. He looked up into the cracked mirror, and found out that he wasn't alone. 

Potter was staring at him over his shoulder. 

Draco instinctively drew his wand since almost every single time he and Potter came face to face, they have duelled. But this time, he had no energy to fight, he was ready to fall down at Harry's feet and beg for him to help him and his mother, after all, he did defeat the Dark Lord five times...

But then Potter drew his wand and Draco accepted the fact that the wild fantasy he entertained a fraction of a second ago was just that. A wild fantasy. There is no way that Harry Potter wouldn't not start a fight now let alone believe Draco if he tried to talk. So Draco didn't wait for him to initiate the fight. 

He cast a non verbal stinging hex at Potter but he threw himself sideways and it missed, hitting the lamp on the wall beside him instead, shattering it. Potter cast a non verbal spell at him but Draco quickly blocked it with a thought and raised his wand and cast a multi shot jinx at him but it hit the bin behind Potter and it exploded. 

Then Potter attempted a curse that backfired off the wall behind Draco's ear and smashed the cistern beneath Myrtle. Water poured everywhere. She was screaming loudly, "No! No! Stop it! Stop! STOP!" Potter slipped over as Draco, his face twisted in regret, because of what he was about to do and in anger, because Potter absolutely deserved this pain, it wasn't that far off from the amount of mental pain that he had inflicted on Draco, yelled "Cruci--", 

But at the same moment Potter bellowed, " _SECTUMSEMPRA_!", and the next thing he felt was pain, incredible pain, like fire searing through his flesh. His face and chest were burning and he collapsed backwards. Draco didn't quite lose consciousness but neither was he aware of anything beyond the _pain_ he was feeling, his body was shaking as if he was having a fit, and then, finally, he blacked out. 

When Draco came to, he was still lying on he floor, water soaking through his clothes. Severus was kneeling over him. _When had he come in_ , he wondered. The pain had receded, but his head was ringing with a high pitched sound, the pain in his chest was quite bearable now and his face was still getting stitched up by whatever spell that Severus was doing. 

Draco tried to thank Severus and ask him how did he happen to find him, but found out that he couldn't open his mouth let alone lift a finger. But as Severus continued the song like incantation, the deadweight of his limbs became more movable and he was hauled up into a standing position by strong hands. 

Severus was saying something, he tried to listen but caught only a few words,"...need hospital wing...scarring....dittany immediately...avoid even that...come".

Draco drifted out of consciousness right at that moment and when he came to, again, he was in the hospital wing. Soft moonlight was shining in through the windows which gave the place a Graveyard feel, according to Draco. Well he certainly felt dead anyway. He tried to remember how exactly did he get here. Memories of the events flooded his mind.

Merlin... he'd be lying if he said that there wasn't a part of him that wished that maybe Severus hadn't come and rescued him, that maybe if Draco was left to die there, at least it would have been a far better and honorable death than what the Dark Lord had planned for him, at least it would have been by Harry Potter's hands. 

Now he knew what it felt like to be so far gone on someone, that the love for them felt like a fire, still flickering at the bottom of his heart, even after the idiot someone tried to murder him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Here you go. I tried my best on portraying Draco's emotions. Hope you liked it. Kudos and comments give me life ❤️


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